


The Right Place

by HalfASlug



Series: Found My Place [7]
Category: Broadchurch
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 10:10:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6562240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfASlug/pseuds/HalfASlug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life had taken a sharp turn for Alec Hardy and he was dangerously close to being happy. It was only a matter of time before he jeopardised it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

As Hardy looked around the beach he was currently sat on, he had to wonder why there were so many people also stupid enough to brave the harsh sea wind only to be rewarded with getting sand in every crevice.

It was well into autumn now, something Hardy hadn't really been aware of until this morning when it literally hit him over the head in the form of conker falling from a tree on the way to his car. However, after a week of drizzle, the day was otherwise pleasant and most people had switched their coats for light jackets. One of the only exceptions was sat next to him, orange coat zipped up to her chin, talking to her eldest son on the phone while her youngest lined pebbles on the blanket in front of him.

"Isn't George Best dead?"

Hardy arched an eyebrow at Miller as he added a pebble to Fred's collection.

"Well, how was I supposed to know there was a statue?"

For some reason there was something terribly wrong with the pebble Hardy had selected and Fred threw it away from them. It landed dangerously close to a group of teenagers sat a few metres in front of them and Hardy raised a hand in apology while restraining Fred with the other.

"Don't throw them, mate. You'll hurt someone."

"Why are there so many statues? Sounds more like an art gallery than a stadium."

"Stone!"

"Fred!"

"What the hell has Michael Jackson got to do with Fulham?"

"STONE!"

"Right - no more stones." Hardy scooped the toddler up and sat him on his lap. He twisted around in an attempt to escape, but Hardy managed to sneak his hand under his coat to tickle him. Fred curled up into a squealing ball and forgot all about his pebbles.

"Well, behave," Miller said into the phone, shooting Hardy a smile. "And stay with Olly! Do what he says, okay? Enjoy the game, sweetheart. Yep - love you. Bye."

Miller put her phone away while Fred adjusted himself so he was lying face down across Hardy's lap. He leant over the blanket to play with the sand.

"Tom's enjoying himself, then?" Hardy asked.

"We'll be lucky if he comes home by the sounds of things."

"I didn't think he even supported Yeovil?"

"He doesn't. Weymouth's always been his team," she explained. "But they got Man United in the cup and Olly managed to get press tickets through work or something. Either way - his bedroom's been spotless for a month. All I've had to do is say the words 'Old Trafford' and he suddenly remembers how to make his bed."

Hardy smiled and wrapped an arm around her. She rested her head against his shoulder and tugged on Fred's feet to make him giggle.

Four hours ago, he'd had no plans to be in Broadchurch. He'd been getting ready to drive to Sandbrook to pick Daisy up for the weekend when he'd got a call from Tess to say she had fallen ill. He'd said he'd visit anyway, but she'd shut the idea down.

"Little Miss Google told me that people with certain heart problems should avoid cold medicines and doesn't want you catch it off her."

"Fuck that, I'll deal with it."

"Alec-"

"I'm not saying I'll bring her back with me, but I should visit at least!"

Tess sighed. "She told me to not let you in the house because even you don't catch it, you could pass it on to Fred."

"But-"

"Look, Alec, I understand you're frustrated, but it's one weekend. She's asleep, but I'll get her to ring you when she wakes up, okay?"

Eventually he'd backed down with the promise he'd visit in the week when she was feeling better. It was easy enough for Tess to say it was only one weekend when she saw Daisy everyday, but missing a weekend meant possibly not seeing his daughter for a month to him.

He'd been on the verge of pulling out some paperwork he'd been avoiding, when he decided to phone Miller instead. When she revealed she'd been abandoned in favour of "overpaid Neanderthals", he'd volunteered to drive down to Broadchurch to keep her and Fred company.

( _"Only if you promise not to mention Juan Mata."_

_"I have no idea who that is."_

_"Spanish midfielder. United's number eight. Now get here and make me forget everything I just said."_ )

Looking out of the sea now, the undoubtedly freezing water destroying the sandcastles constructed by those brave enough to be out in the morning, he thought of his daughter and wished he could be there for her. Their phone call earlier had only made him feel guiltier.

"You'll see her in a couple of days," Miller said, breaking him out of his thoughts. "She probably just wants to sleep all weekend. Having you and Tess fighting over who makes the best Lemsip isn't going to help things."

"Tess makes shi-" Hardy remembered who was currently sprawled across his legs. "Bad Lemsip. Never stirs it enough so you end up with-"

Miller pursed her lips and Hardy closed his mouth with a scowl. Maybe she had a point? He was thinking of a way of changing the subject so he wouldn't have to admit it, when Fred started wiggling.

"Fred, mate, what are you doing?"

He had pulled the sleeve of his jumper from under his coat to cover his hand and was rubbing the beach in circles.

"Sand dirty."

Miller chuckled. "You don't have to clean the beach, Freddie."

"But sand dirty."

Hardy lifted him up by the armpits so he was sat facing him. He held his arm and inspected the state of his jumper.

"Your clothes are dirty now," he sighed, as Miller did her best to brush the sand off them.

"I cleanded sand," Fred told them proudly as his mother's phone rang again.

"Next time I have a day off I'm turning the bast-lumming thing off," she muttered as she answered it. "Gina?"

Fred scowled, shaking his head violently. "Bastlummin thing."

Hardy smiled to himself as he continued to brush sand off his jumper. The last time he'd visited, Fred had dropped a biscuit and said "shit" rather loudly in the middle of the street. Miller had insisted that he'd been the one he'd picked it up from, but Hardy had seen the way her son mirrored her.

"You're kidding me," gasped Miller and he turned his attention to her. "He's there now?" She bit her lip and glanced at Fred while the person on the other end spoke. "No, no, I want to nail him. I'll do the interview."

Hardy knew enough about both Miller and policing to know that their day at the beach was about to end. Fred remained blissfully ignorant and was trying to undo his tie.

"Hey, hey, hey," he said softly, enough to distract the boy without disrupting the phone conversation. "Want me to show you how to do that? Yeah?"

Fred nodded enthusiastically and Hardy showed him, his larger hands directing Fred's tiny ones. He followed the half of Miller's conversation he could hear. She was giving out instructions on how to handle evidence, who should phone who and he felt a swell of pride. He had known she had it in her to be a fantastic DI by the time they finished the Latimer case and was just glad he was around to see it.

"I need to go in," she told him once she'd finished. "DNA pulled through and they've brought Kent in. If we act fast enough, we could have him charged by tonight."

Nodding, Hardy straightened his tie up. He wasn't really supposed to know about her ongoing cases, but they often ran theories by each other despite working for different constabularies.

"I'll phone Lucy to - shit, she's working today."

"Shit!"

"Fred, don't say that!"

"I'll try the childminder - might be short notice - or Beth could-"

"What are you talking about?" Hardy cut in as he watched Miller flick through her contacts list, unable to find any of the names she was saying.

"Can't exactly have Fred waiting in my office for me, can I?" she replied when she finally found Beth's number. She went to press it, but Hardy gripped her arm.

"What about me?"

"What about you?"

"I'm here."

She stilled, her thumb hovering over her friend's number, and looked at him as though he had just emerged from the ground.

"I can't ask you to look after him. This could take hours!"

"Don't ask, then. I'll offer."

"Hardy, Kent's not the sort of bloke who'll break easily. Trust me - I've tried. I'll be gone way past Freddie's bed time and-"

"I've put a kid to bed before. A few times actually. Ask Daisy."

She gave him a defiant look, but he refused to back down. It made no sense to him to call someone else. What was he supposed to do? Go back home? Find something to do in Broadchurch? Eventually, Miller broke eye contact to run a hand through Fred's curls. He shot her a wide grin that she returned sadly.

"It's not that," she said, talking to him, but still looking at Fred. "I trust you with him and everything. It's just… it doesn't seem right to use you as a free babysitter."

Hardy didn't say anything for a moment. He could see the underlying issue buried in her words a mile off, regardless of how well she thought she was hiding it. After several months of seeing each other, he was definitely her boyfriend - for lack of a better term. However, what he was to Tom and Fred was lost in a grey area that friends and family avoided and was glossed over in front of strangers.

It had only been the previous week that Fred had come home from nursery, proudly showing off the family tree he'd made. Thankfully, before he'd started, Miller had ensured that his teachers knew the basics of their situation and would act accordingly. As a result, as Fred had explained happily to his mum about how some boys and girls lived with their mums and dads, but some had their aunties and uncles or grannies and granddads, Hardy was left looking at a sheet of paper with 'Uncle Alec' written in childish scrawl where Joe's name should've been.

While he wasn't their father, or even their step father, Hardy knew before he'd started his relationship with Miller that having her in his life meant taking on her boys as well. He had no legal claim over them, but was known to both of their schools so he could pick them up and it had already been agreed that he'd be giving them joint presents with Miller for Christmas.

He didn't mind. In fact, he loved it. When Tom told him about getting picked for the school football team, he'd been genuinely proud. One of Fred's drawings was on his fridge at home. If something terrible happened and he and Miller ended, he knew one of the things he'd miss most would be the boys.

Of course, he'd yet to vocalise any of this to Miller. Every chance he got to show her he cared for them as much as her he took, but judging by how she still didn't want to abuse his babysitting services, she hadn't picked up on any of it.

"You wouldn't be using me," he eventually told her quietly. "I don't mind looking after him. I'm his Uncle Alec, remember?"

"I know but… You came all this way to see me and I sod off to work and leave you with a toddler!"

"Who says I came to see you?" he replied, his voice a higher pitch than usual. "I'm here for the little man." Hardy bounced Fred on his knees to make him laugh. "We only invited you to the beach because you've got a blanket."

Miller hesitated then shoved her phone in her pocket. "You sure you don't mind?"

"Not even a little bit."

She leant across, cupped his cheek and kissed him. Thanks to the sea breeze, it tasted salty, but Hardy couldn't care less. Kissing Ellie Miller was still a glorious novelty he barely felt he deserved, but was always doing his best to earn.

When she pulled back, he added, "And I'll give you a lift there."

Just as he'd hoped, she kissed him again.

Fifteen minutes later, much to Fred's upset, the blanket was packed up and the three of them were bundled into the car. They'd stopped off at Miller's house so she could get changed and Fred was hating being in a stationary car as much as he had being dragged away from the beach.

"Go, go, go, go, go!"

"We have to wait for your mum."

"GO, GO, GO, GO, GO, GO-"

"Hurry up, Miller."

Eventually, she hurried down the garden path, jeans and jumper switched for her usual trouser suit and blouse.

"How do I look?" she asked as she climbed back into the passenger seat.

"Fine."

"Fine?" She muttered something else under her breath that Hardy couldn't hear over the car being being started.

Once she'd done her seat belt she looked up to see they hadn't moved and frowned at him.

"You look beautiful," he told her truthfully. He'd let one relationship go to shit because he didn't pay enough attention to what was happening right in front of him and was determined to make sure he didn't make the same mistake twice.

Unfortunately, his sincere compliment was met with an eye roll. "I was looking for 'not covered in sand and wind swept' but that'll do."

Hardy put the car in gear. "Does it matter?"

"Just drive."

"Can't win with you, can we, Freddie?" he called into the backseat.

"Nah, he always wins," Miller grinned.

Fred squealed with laughter and kicked the back of Hardy's chair.

It only took a few minutes to make the familiar journey from the Miller's home to Broadchurch station. The whole time was spent with Fred babbling to himself about things he saw out of the window and Miller going through her case notes, muttering to herself as she did. While both noises were a bit irritating - not to mention distracting him when he was supposed to be driving - Hardy also found them comforting. The constant hum of others in the background reminded him that he wasn't alone anymore.

They pulled up into the station car park and Miller shoved her files back into her bag. "You sure you're going to be okay with him?"

"Fine," Hardy sighed, trying and failing to keep his exasperation out of his voice.

"Call me if anything happens."

"I will."

_"Anything."_

"Got it."

"I'll ring you if I get chance-"

"I know."

"-don't know when I will, but hopefully before he goes to bed at six."

"Miller, please."

"If you can't get me then-"

"Miller!" Hardy all but shouted. "I can look after him. It's not like I don't know where you are."

"Sorry," she said, running a hand through her hair. She turned in her seat and grinned at her son. "Mummy's got to go to work now, okay? Be good for Uncle Alec, Freddie. I love you."

"Love you, Mummy," Fred replied, the words muffled because he was chewing on the collar of his coat.

Miller turned back to face him, reaching into her bag for her house keys and handed them to him. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Now, go!"

She smiled and unclipped her seat belt. Rather than leave, she reached across the handbrake and pulled him into an awkward hug. "I'll try and call you," she said again before kissing him.

"Stop worrying. Concentrate on the job."

"Will do. I'll see you later."

"See you later."

Despite his words, Hardy kissed her again. It was hard not to when her face was already that close to his.

"Right," she said between kisses. "Bye."

"Love you. Bye."

"Bye."

With a final peck on his lips, Miller hurried out of the car and Hardy watched her, a strange ringing in his ears. His hands were gripping the steering wheel enough that his hands would probably hurt if he had any awareness of his outer extremities. As it was, his body felt like cotton wool.

_"Love you."_

Maybe she hadn't noticed? She'd been preoccupied with her upcoming interrogation, after all. It was only a couple of syllables, easily lost in the flow of conversation and the rush of her exit.

Hardy swallowed in a futile attempt to moisten his mouth. It may have only been a couple of syllables, but he had been saving them for a special occasion for a lot longer than he was willing to admit. He couldn't believe he'd been as stupid as to throw them away without preparing himself for the aftermath.

Even though he was very aware of it hammering away behind his ribs, Hardy could've sworn in the painful seconds he spent watching Miller walk towards the station that his heart was sat in his lap, vulnerable to attack.

The seconds ticked by as Hardy reminded himself to breathe. Miller was almost at the back entrance of the station when she stopped and turned around.

"Fuck."

"Fuck!"

Hardy didn't even register Fred's cry.

In a mad scramble, he managed to undo his seatbelt and open the door before Miller was halfway back to him.

"Did you just say that?" she asked. It sounded almost angry, which did nothing for Hardy's nerves.

"No," he blurted out. "Well, yes, but-"

Miller came to a halt a couple of metres away from him. "Did you or didn't you? Not a hard question."

"I just- aren't you in a rush?"

"Don't try and get out of this!"

Hardy opened his mouth, fully intending to have an explanation emerge, but was disappointed when an odd choking noise happened instead. Miller's expression went from annoyed to pissed off and it jolted his brain into producing something in way of a reply. "It's just something you say!"

Pissed off quickly became furious and Hardy wished he had the ability to punch himself in the face.

"In what world," she growled at him, "is that _just something you say?_ To who? The bloody postman?"

"Don't be like that…"

"You're the one being a knobhead about this!"

"Oh, right," he snapped, " _I love you_ gets me a _knobhead_ , does it?"

"So you did say it?"

"For fuck's-" Hardy pinched the bridge of his noise and prayed with every fibre of his being that there was not only a God, but that it was a God merciful enough to have the ground devour him whole in the next three seconds.

Three seconds came and went and the ground remained woefully solid. Hardy wondered if he could get Paul Coates landed with a littering fine the next time he saw him.

With a well-timed death nowhere in sight, Hardy braced himself to return to the argument. However, before he could, he felt a warm hand on his elbow. He opened his eyes and saw Miller. Gone were the hard lines and scowl, replaced by a softness he swore only she was blessed with.

The knot in his stomach loosened and, for a mad second, he wanted to tell her just how much he loved her.

She pressed her lips to his before anything insane could slip by them. When she pulled back, she brushed his fringe out of his eyes.

"Decide what you said," she told him quietly, "and we'll talk about it later, okay?"

Hardy nodded, not sure if he could talk without swallowing his tongue, and watched her walk away.

He was nearly back at her house before he was aware he was breathing again.


	2. Chapter 2

Looking after a toddler was every bit as exhausting as Hardy remembered it being. Without adult conversation, he found his brain slowly turning to pulp. Of course, the constant running around and playing kept him on his toes. In fact, once he'd realised the enormity of the task he'd foolishly volunteered for without a second thought, he was more than apprehensive about how he was going to deal with it.

He needn't have worried. There were a few close calls with a couple of ornaments and at least one toy car was lost under the sideboard for the near future at least, but otherwise spending time with Fred was incident free. In fact, it was fun. Watching the boy find the smallest of things fascinating reminded Hardy of the joy of raising his own child. The world was much less darker through their eyes.

Luckily the old tricks still worked on the newer generation and an hour of TV later, Fred was saying "hello" to the moon and crawling into bed with his clothes still on.

"Come on, Fred," he said as strictly as he could to the sleepy toddler. "You know you can't sleep in those."

"Can," came the response from under the aeroplane covered blanket.

Hardy had searched the small chest of drawers by the bed and pulled out the first thing with a character he recognised on it. "I guess I'll have to wear Tigger then…"

The effect was immediate and Fred was tucked into bed again, this time in orange and black stripes, within ten minutes.

He hadn't made it all the way downstairs when the memory of earlier fought its way to the forefront of his mind. Making dinner and playing cars had only managed to distract him from the worry that had been eating at him since he'd left the police station. It had been there ever since, replaying the moment, analysing her reaction and criticising his response.

It could have been worse, he summarised as he made himself a cup of tea. It wasn't as though he had lied. He did love her. Part of him had hoped she'd already known. It wasn't like he'd been hiding it or anything. Compared to how he acted before they were together, he practically declaring his love from the rooftops every morning.

The real worry was that her defensive shock had more to do with her thinking he was moving too fast. It had only been three months after all. It was definitely a possibility that she would be spooked and demand some space or, even worse, a break up. She'd probably only just got used to not being single, and here he was, dropping the L word.

There was also the fear that she had been having doubts about them and he'd just revealed they were on very different pages.

Hardy checked his phone when he reached the living room. Despite her promise to call, Miller hadn't managed to. A few hours ago he'd got a text asking if everything was okay, but his affirmative response was the end of the conversation. He wasn't surprised. He knew how busy she would be.

Still. Even a hint as to what she was thinking would have been nice.

He sat on the sofa and debated how he should pass the time. It wasn't like he'd never been to Miller's house before, but it was the first time he'd been left alone in it. At least she trusted him enough with her son and her home. That had to mean something.

After a couple of minutes of resting, grateful that he could close his eyes without worrying about a three foot tall maelstrom, Hardy called Daisy again. The call only lasted a couple of minutes as it hurt her throat to talk. They switched to exchanging texts and, before Hardy knew it, it was dark outside.

Not wanting to impose too much, Hardy made himself a drink and turned the TV on. He found a quiz show that wasn't aimed at morons and hoped the constant onslaught of trivia would stop him worrying too much.

An hour later, he was still tense but he could now name five obscure countries beginning with R so he supposed the evening hadn't been a complete waste of time. He groaned when the presenter announced the next round would be based on Eurovision, but was saved by a knock at the door. Trying not to disturb the net curtain too much, he peeked out of the window and saw Miller's blurred outline through the porch windows.

Side-lining his trepidation, he hurried to the door and opened it. He was greeted with her grinning at him and he stepped back to allow her entrance. Before he could decide if he should initiate the conversation he'd mentally tried to prepare for and had got nowhere, she pressed a quick kiss to his mouth and unzipped her coat.

She had said that he needed to make a decision before they spoke. Hardy thought it was probably best he actually knew what he wanted to say rather than them having another argument.

"How's Fred?"

"How'd it go?"

They'd spoken simultaneously and smiled sheepishly at each other.

"Out for the count," Hardy answered, taking her coat from her and hanging it up. "You?"

She smiled proudly and he knew the answer before she said it. "Full confession!"

"Outstanding, Miller!"

Hardy surprised her with a hug and she squeezed him back with a giggle and much more force than normal. He couldn't help but smile with her. Closing a case, especially one that had been open a while, was always an adrenaline rush and it was hard not to get caught up in the moment.

"Was he any trouble?" Miller asked, leaning back with her brow knitted together.

"Nothing I couldn't handle."

"Thank you." She kissed him again. "I'm going to get changed. I smell like that bloody room."

Hardy let her go but grabbed her hand when she reached the second stair. "Have you eaten?"

"Not really."

"I cooked extra when I made Fred's dinner," he said, nodding towards the kitchen. "You want some reheating?"

Over ten years of marriage had taught Hardy to be alert for early signs of upset so he was quick to spot the faint tremble in Miller's bottom lip when she nodded. Before he could piece together exactly what he'd done wrong, she pulled him towards her and kissed him. Hardy was surprised but soon melted into it, noting how strange it was that she was almost the same height as him.

"It's just chicken nuggets and beans," he clarified when she eased away.

"I know."

Her words were more confusing than her actions. It must have shown on his face, as she gave him a half smile and rested her head on his shoulder. As he held her, he thought about how she'd been doing this with increasing frequency. He had become so used to seeing her support herself when life dealt her another blow, but nowadays she'd lean on him. He pressed his lips against her temple, happy to take the weight. There was no way of knowing for sure, but he hoped this worked as an acknowledgement and apology for their argument as well.

It took nearly fifteen minutes for Miller to come back downstairs in pyjama bottoms and an oversized jumper. She thanked him when he offered her a plate of food and cup of tea, explaining that she had been checking on Fred.

"Didn't believe me, did you?"

"'I did, but you know what he's like for copying your bad habits," she replied, taking a sip of her drink. "Just wanted to make sure he wasn't sleeping face down in some paperwork."

As she ate, she discussed the bits of her day that she could, then laughed herself stupid while he told her how Fred had run him ragged all afternoon. Hardy wasn't sure if he should have been insulted by her barely concealed relief that everything had gone well, but the easy conversation and her laughter loosened the knot that had been forming in his stomach. What they had was fine. There was no need for him to spoil it with grand proclamations.

And yet he had.

Maybe if she didn't bring it up, they could move passed his fuck up?

When Miller had eaten all but one chicken nugget (she'd thrown it at him and he'd eaten it for her), they moved to the living room and curled up together in front of the TV. They managed to find an old episode of  _Morse_ neither of them had seen before and both tried valiantly to make it look like it wasn't a competition, while still trying to solve it before the onscreen detectives.

A couple of texts from Tom confirmed that he had the time of his life, would probably be up all night and not sleep until the train home the next day. As Miller laughed at the idea of Olly being put off parenthood for a couple of years, Hardy was certain the dead man's daughter had given herself away in an interview but neglected to mention it aloud.

An hour later and the daughter was revealed as the murderer, Miller had somehow caught her slip up in the interview with Lewis as well as a couple of other clues and Hardy was left wondering how he ever dismissed her abilities.

"'Spose I should get back," sighed Hardy as the credits rolled. He didn't make any effort to move. Not only was he comfortable but Miller was cuddled into his side, making it very difficult to move.

Miller sat up to look at him. "Can't you stay over?"

"If you want me to?"

"'Course I do," she said, resting her head back on his chest. "You made me chicken nuggets."

"Hope the same rule doesn't apply for the workers at McDonald's?"

"No, but then you're a half decent shag as well," she said matter-of-factly.

"Thank God for that."

On the TV an episode of Lewis started and they settled back down. Hardy tried to remember the last time he'd been so content and struggled.

"Plus you managed to get my son to sleep," Miller added, giving him a squeeze.

"He was fine," Hardy told her and then frowned. "Got a bit angry over Iggle Piggle for some reason."

"Yeah, well," she yawned, "Iggle Piggle's a little shit. Dancing about with that blanket. Should just get a job and pay taxes like the rest of us."

He laughed, the movement dislodging her from her spot. She glared at him, but he could see the smile behind her tired eyes. The noise from the TV faded into nothing along with all the background noise in his head, leaving one staggering revelation behind.

The words to explain it, however, were slow to form and he was kissing her before they had the chance. Everything he'd been through, everything he'd lost and everything he'd rebuilt, it felt like it had been leading up to this moment. It was only a snog on a sofa that tasted like ketchup in a town he still hated on a tired day filled with disappointment, but it was what he had been looking for ever since he'd gotten lost.

He could probably have told her this, how she was in the foundation to it all, but the atmosphere was too serene for that so he elected for a summary he hoped would suffice.

"I do love you."

It was as though she'd been expecting it and Hardy wondered if he had it written all over his face. He didn't mind. The wait for her reaction was more of an issue. For a moment, she looked as if she was about to speak but, instead, closed the distance between them again.

With those words off his chest, Hardy felt lighter. In fact, it was possible Miller was the only thing keeping him grounded.

His usually pessimistic mind ran away from him, imagining the future they could have. Every night could be them coming home from work, looking after the kids and eating what was easiest to prepare before falling asleep together. Every morning could be sleepy kisses, grumbled conversation over breakfast and trying to get ready around each other.

Miller pulled away but left her hand against his cheek, her thumb stroking his cheekbone. He was so lost in his fantasy and the relief of finally getting the words out that he didn't spot her expression at first.

Her eyes were wide and she looked to be biting the inside of her mouth.

"I don't know if I can say it back," she whispered.

Hardy's arms fell away from her as though they made of lead and he turned towards the TV, the bookshelf, anything other than her. "Oh. Right."

"It's not-" She grabbed his hand before he could pull back fully and cupped his cheek so he'd look at her. The warmth of her hand on his nearly burned. "I just… don't know. Feels like I should know but - it's complicated."

The hurt he was feeling was nothing compared to pain in her expression. "It's okay," he found himself saying. Somewhere inside him, his need to protect her won against his rejection. "It's okay," he repeated more sincerely.

She stared at him for a beat, gauging his reaction, probably warring with her own guilt. Shame washed over him. He'd spent years knowing he wasn't easy to love and yet, here he was, expecting her to tell him he'd been wrong.

There were tears forming in her eyes now.

_For fuck's sake, Hardy._

"I don't want you to think-"

"Seriously, Ellie," he interrupted her gently. She blinked at the use of her first name. "I'd rather you tell me the truth than lie to me about this."

She inhaled sharply and nodded. Her hand dropped to his chest and he caught it in his own.

"I am happy. So happy," she managed to say, though her voice was choked. "Not just with you, but everything, and you're a huge part of that but…" She closed her eyes, a tear slipping out as she did. "I think my head's still a bit of a mess."

She was one of the strongest people he'd ever met, and easily the one who had been through the most, and yet she sat in front of him, sounding completely broken. Whether it was admitting she still wasn't fully okay or if it was that she thought he might leave that caused it, he didn't care. Her honesty, her kindness and the fact she'd clearly already been thinking about what he meant to her made him want to comfort her. There was no way he could give her a fraction of the clarity she gave him, but he could try.

"That's understandable." He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and smiled when it bounced back immediately. "I'll be here. While you work it out. I'll be here."

She pressed her lips to his and he felt her warm tears on his face. He did his best to catch them, but then realised his hands could be put to better use holding her closer.

It didn't matter if he had to wait. He still felt better than he had in years. As she climbed onto his lap without breaking their kiss, he swore he wouldn't tell her he loved her again, no matter how much he wanted to, until he heard it from her first. In the meantime, he would make sure she knew she was loved in every other way he could manage.


End file.
